Statice: crinkly, papery
purple nubs along
a leathery stalk
that attract butterflies,
dried upside down in
a cellar, then arranged
in a Delft vase on a
massive oak table in a
proper German household.

Tropical blossoms of
heavy fuchsia or
burnt orange—a flower,
a cube, a pod collapsed
upon itself. Chameleons skitter
through the thick, stiff growth.
1768, shipboard, Admiral
Louis de Bougainvillea,
gazing out at the horizon,
can’t even begin to dream
of this wild, tenacious vine
that now bears his name.

Diego Rivera’s,
Georgia O’Keefe’s,
Martha Graham looked like an
upside down calla lily and
my grandmother carried them
among ivy tendrils in her
wedding bouquet in 1932,
wearing a dress like Martha’s.

After my grandfather died,
my grandmother grew
geraniums—red or pink like
a delicate, ruffled candy or
an intimate, internal organ—
on the patio, in the backyard.
She let me water them
with a galvanized can
as big as I was.

The California mountain
shifts color—the white gold
of autumn blooms emerald
in the frigid winter rain.
Wait, but don’t watch—
in the spring, a sturdy,
resolute carpet of stalks of
purple lupine rolls out
across the hills.
Now you can look.

Visiting some friends
in Colorado for the
summer, walking down
Main Street, past bunches
of fuzzy, ragged blue balls,
she picks one, puts it
in my buttonhole, says
“Here, a Bachelor Button
for you—because
you’re a bachelor.”

Constant, familiar,
almost like kin,
the honest white fringe
and yolky center of
the daisy, innocent:
I picked them on my
way home from school,
and brought them home
for my mom. She smiled
and put them in a glass.

In a large wicker basket
sent by my Grandma,
spicy red carnations dot
the mass of droopy,
green, pine boughs for
this December memorial
after my father’s suicide.

The scent of pineapple guava,
those tiny pink bursts
that swell into small green
globes full of juice,
cloying, thick and heavy,
actual drops of its aroma
suspended in the air like diamonds,
dripping into my lungs as I
float on my back in a pool
of water as warm as my blood
and study each star,
wondering if I am
really here.

About Me

About "Oh, By The Way"

"Oh, By The Way" is my digital scrap book of things I like, things I would share with a close friend and say: “Oh, by the way, do you know of this artist/ clothing or interior designer/ model/ singer/ actor/ gorgeous man… or, have you seen this video/ photo/ film... or heard (or do you remember) this song/ band... or, read this book/ poem/ inspiring quote... or, visited this place/ restaurant/ famous building... or, have you heard of this amazing new scientific discovery?”

I am dedicated to posting the positive, the fascinating, the beautiful, the interesting, the moving, and the inspiring and uplifting. Sometimes I post cultural as well as personal observations, milestones, and remembrances. And just like life, all of these things may often have a bit of melancholy or even sadness in them, which is what makes our time here so lovely and bittersweet and precious.

Some of the photos, art, poetry, and prose are my own original work, credited with my initials, JEF. When it isn't, I always try to post links to the original source material, but often I find photos on the web that are not linked or other material that is not sourced. In these instances, I post them without malice since it is assumed that such things, by being globally posted on something as uncontrollable as the internet to begin with, are in the public domain. If you identify the source of an image that is not linked, please politely let me know (without accusing me of theft) and I will be happy to provide a link.

I hope to inspire and entertain my readers with things that inspire and entertain ME. There is a startling amount of beauty and creativity in the world and it enriches us all to participate in it.

All-time Favorite Films

2001: A Space Odyssey (Kubrick)

After Hours (Hysterical, hair-raising ride through NYC at night)

Amelie

American Beauty (Alan Ball)

Baraka (Stunning, transcending—the "spiritus mundi" on film)

Belle et Bete (Cocteau)

Big Sleep, The (The epitome of film noir)

Bringing Up Baby (Hepburn & Grant—the epitome of screwball comedy)

Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover, The (Greenaway)

Crash (Cronenberg—DIFFICULT subject, not for everyone)

Don’t Look Now (Nicolas Roeg—ultimate modern gothic horror)

Drowning By Numbers (Greenaway)

Easy Rider

Edward II (Derek Jarman)

Erendira (From magic realist Marquez’ brilliant short story)

Eyes Wide Shut (Kubrick's last film)

Fearless (Jeff Bridges—life and death)

Funny Bones (Leslie Caron, Jerry Lewis, and the brilliant Lee Evans)

Holiday (Hepburn & Grant)

Howard’s End (The ultimate statement of the unfairness of class systems)